“What was that name?”
Ide shook his head. “It was the name of a respectable and law-abiding citizen. I saw him and told him about it, and he was good enough to accept my apology. He is a very fine man. I hope his name won’t have to be dragged into a murder case, and it won’t be by me.”
“But you have given it to the police, of course.”
“No, not yet. I admit I may be compelled to. I can’t let my career end by having my license taken away.”
Wolfe’s eyes went around. “I suggest that we leave the question open whether Mr. Ide has contributed his share, at least until we have heard from Mr. Amsel.” They settled on Steve Amsel. “Well, sir?”
“If I don’t play I’m it,” Amsel said. “Huh?”
“It’s not quite as simple as that,” Wolfe told him. “But you’ve heard us, and it’s your turn.”
“Last one in is a monkey,” Kerr declared.
“Nuts. Have I been last?” There was half a finger left of his double bourbon and water, and he finished it, left his chair to put the glass on the dresser, got out a cigarette and lit it, and turned to prop his backside against the dresser. “I’ll tell you how it is,” he said. “My situation’s a little different. One thing, I was a boob to identify that stiff, but there he was, and in a case like that you can’t stall, you’ve got to say yes or no, and I said yes. Now here we are. Miss Bonner said we might as well tell each other what we’ve told the cops, and I’ll buy that, but my problem’s not like yours. You see, I identified him as a guy named Bill Donahue I knew once.”
He had already had six pairs of eyes, and with that he had them good. He grinned around at them.
“I said my situation’s different. So I was stuck with that. So what I’ve told the cops. I’ve told them I’d seen him around a few times last spring, but it was kinda vague, I couldn’t remember much about it except that once he came and wanted me to arrange a tap for him and I turned him down. They wanted to know whose wire he wanted tapped, and I tried to remember but couldn’t. I said just for a fact I wasn’t sure he had told me the name. So that’s what I’ve told the cops, and that’s what I’m telling you.” He went to his chair and sat.
He still had the eyes. Wolfe’s were half closed. He spoke. “I suggest, Mr. Amsel, that since talking with the police you’ve had time to jog your memory. Possibly you can be a little more definite about the occasions when you saw Donahue around last spring.”
“Nothing doing. Just vague.”
“Or the name of the man whose wire he wanted tapped?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
“One thing occurs to me. Mr. Kerr has said he knew – to use his words – that ‘they had two of the technicians singing.’ Supposing that your memory has failed you on another detail, supposing that you did arrange the tap and have forgotten about it – just a supposition – wouldn’t your situation be quite untenable if the technicians do remember it?”
“Just supposing.”
“Certainly.”
“Well, I’ve heard there were a lot of technicians around. I guess they’re pretty scarce now. Supposing the ones doing the singing aren’t the ones I used? Supposing the ones I used aren’t going to sing?”
Wolfe nodded. “Yes, if I can suppose you can too. I understand your disinclination to tell us anything you haven’t told the police, but I think we may reasonably ask this: did you mention this incident in your statement to the secretary of state?”
“What incident?”
“Your refusal to make the tap requested by Donahue.”
“Why should I? We were told to report all taps. We weren’t told to report refusals to make taps.”
“You’re quite right. Did you mention the name of Donahue at all in the statement?”
“No. What for?”
“Just so. You’re right again, of course. I’m sure you’ll agree, Mr. Amsel, that your contribution is even skimpier than Mr. Ide’s. I don’t know -”
The phone rang, and I went and got it. It was Lon Cohen. As I spoke with him, or rather, listened to him, Wolfe uncapped the second bottle of beer and poured. The guests were politely silent, as before. Again, after Lon had reported, he wanted the low-down, and I promised to supply him with an eight-column headline as soon as we got one. I asked him to hold on a minute and told Wolfe, “Alan Samuels is a retired broker, Wall Street. He could live on Park Avenue but prefers the Bronx. His wife died four years ago. He has two sons and two daughters, all married. He gives money to worthy causes, nothing spectacular. Harvard Club. Director of the Ethical Culture Society. A year ago the governor appointed him a member of the Charity Funds Investigating Committee. I’ve got more, but it’s not very exciting. Of course you note the item that might possibly be interesting.”
“Yes. He’s still on? Get the names of the members of that committee.”
“Right.” I went back to Lon. He said he’d have to send to the files, and did so, and then demanded some dope. I couldn’t very well tell him that the other suspects were there in our room and Wolfe was doing his damnedest to find a crack to start a wedge in, so I gave him a human interest story about Nero Wolfe’s behavior in the jug and other little sidelights. The list came, and he read it off while I wrote it down, and I told him not to expect the headline in time for the morning edition. I tore the sheet off of the memo pad and went and handed it to Wolfe, telling him, “That’s it. Just five members, including the chairman.”
He looked it over. He grunted. He looked at the guests. “Well. You may remember, from my statement, that Otis Ross is the chairman of the Charity Funds Investigating Committee. You have just heard that Alan Samuels is a member of that committee. So is Arthur M. Leggett. The names of the other two members are James P. Finch and Philip Maresco. It’s a pity we have only three out of five. If it were unanimous it would be more than suggestive, it would be conclusive. Can you help us, Mr. Ide?”
Ide was looking uncomfortable. He pinched the skin over his Adam’s apple, but that didn’t seem to help, and he tried chewing on his lower lip, but since his teeth were a brownish yellow it didn’t make him any handsomer. He spoke. “I said I wouldn’t drag his name into this, but now it is in. I can’t help it. You have named him.”
“That makes four. Is there any point in leaving it to conjecture whether it was Finch or Maresco?”
“No. Finch.”
Wolfe nodded. “That leaves only Maresco, and I hope he wasn’t slighted. Mr. Amsel. Doesn’t that name, Philip Maresco, strike a chord in your memory? At least a faint echo?”
Amsel grinned at him. “Nothing doing, Wolfe. My memory’s gone very bad. But if you want my advice, just forget my memory. It’s a cinch. If I was you I’d just take it for granted.”
“Very well put. Satisfactory. Do you think it possible, ladies and gentlemen, that it was through coincidence that the five men whose wires Donahue wanted tapped were all members of that committee?”
They didn’t think so.
“Neither do I. Surely it invites inquiry. Miss Bonner, how many competent operatives, not counting Miss Colt, are immediately available to you?”
She was startled. “Why… you mean now? Tonight?”
“Tonight or in the morning. What time is it, Archie?”